


they say girls should not curse (i say go to hell)

by Precipice



Series: Nath [5]
Category: Cthulhu Mythos - Fandom
Genre: (listen i wanted to write a scary story but Asenath is simply too brave), (so here is a little piece of character exploration/evolution within the Nath-verse), Gen, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-21
Updated: 2020-10-21
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:20:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 1,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27130327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Precipice/pseuds/Precipice
Summary: In which Asenath Waite finds the meaning she has always had.[Interlude.]
Series: Nath [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1586722
Kudos: 5





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The mind which is immortal makes itself  
> Requital for its good or evil thoughts,  
> Is its own origin of ill and end,  
> And its own place and time; its innate sense,  
> When stripp'd of this mortality, derives  
> No colour from the fleeting things without,  
> But is absorb'd in sufferance or in joy,  
> Born from the knowledge of its own desert.  
> ~ "Manfred", Byron

Regret was a rare occurrence in Asenath Waite's life - if only because it thrived on hope, which had been almost as scarce. Still, it was there - not a sudden pang, but a subtle pain. It blossomed like a bruise - dark and tender; unlike a bruise, it lingered for months and years, forcing her to twist herself into someone that would hurt less. 

If pressed, Asenath could distinguish several particularly sore spots.

Her mother walking out of the door and not coming back.

"You will not take to the water."

All the books left in her dead father's study.

Her poor command of the Aklo language.

The last one was also the most recent. Three months ago, Asenath had discovered a piece of parchment hidden quite literally inside a previously unknown edition of _Cultes des Goules_. The parchment bore a strange inscription in Aklo; about half the symbols were unfamiliar to her, while the other half made little sense in that particular context. She did not dare replicate any part of it, so she just stared at the original - traced the shapes with her eyes (but not with her fingers), mouthed the sounds with her lips (but not with her voice); Aklo was a holy language, and one did not speak it unless one wished for the universe to actually listen and perhaps even respond.

Asenath was neither pious nor arrogant - she merely had too little to treasure as it was; and what little she had, she could only carry in her pocket and in her soul. Among the dreary ruins of her life, Aklo gleamed like a moonlit path - the engraved pebbles in the water, the songs at Roodmas and Hallowe'en, the charms on her mother's necklace. In a strange way, the language had been proof that she belonged not just to Ephraim Waite, but to the world - that she had a place in the Innsmouth community, a seat in Dagon's temple, a corner in the mother's heart...

... a spot in the Library of the Miskatonic University. The senior librarians - old men with titles like Doctor and Professor in front of their names - were naturally intrigued by the parchment, warmly encouraging of her efforts and surprisingly patient with her failures. However, none of that mattered as much as Professor Rice asking her to put the Aklo aside and help him with some Latin inscriptions that one of his students had rubbed from an ancient Roman pillar.

"Take the damned scrap home, if you wish, but please come and take a look at what Clarke has found during his holiday in Wales."

In order to keep it safe, Asenath bought a tiny picture frame for the parchment, which soon enough became a constant presence in her handbag and on her nightstand.

"Any progress?" Dr. Armitage would ask, every now and then, before suggesting that, "You have been brooding over it for months. Perhaps you should give it - and yourself - a bit of rest."

"I'll rest when I'm dead." Asenath would reply, sometimes with a shrug but never with a sigh, before lying that, "In any case, I have several ideas. With some luck and more work, I'll have an answer before the year ends."

The truth was, she only had the barest inkling of an idea, gained by accident and laden with shame. The truth was, she had uttered the Aklo, or rather a butchered variation of it, and a man had died in a way that was almost as horrible as it was mysterious.

She should have felt guilty, if only because the reports more or less stated that the man had died screaming. Asenath supposed that she truly was her father's daughter, since the root of her distress was neither remorse nor pity, but shame - shame that she had cursed like a sailor and not like a wizard. It was a bitter thought, but since thoughts could not be spat out, she had to swallow it down - like tea without sugar, she told herself; and besides...

... wizards had always been rather fond of books. Her father had once said that a great library was the sign of a great wizard. His own collection had numbered over a hundred pieces and had earned him over a dozen acolytes. Knowledge was but a spark of fire, and as such only a man could handle it - a moth would get burned. Asenath had been inclined to agree, at least until the Library of Miskatonic University opened its doors for her. It had not taken her very long to realize that a great wizard could possess a great number of books, but the best wizards would only possess a single book - a book which they had written by themselves, for themselves.

When she learned that her father had died, Asenath decided to spit on his grave and do what the great wizard Ephraim Waite had never done - write a book.


	2. Chapter 2

_AKLO DISCOVERED_

_February 1922, New York City, NY / March 1922, Arkham, MA_

_between the decorative paper and the cardboard cover of an unknown edition of "Cultes des Goules"_

_SUPPOSED TRANSLATIONS_

_(unclear) see (unclear) heart (connecting symbol) (unclear) journey (connecting symbol) (unclear) law_

_(unclear) know (unclear) inside (connecting symbol) (unclear) labor (connecting symbol) (unclear) structure_

_(unclear) know (unclear) self (connecting symbol) (unclear) mission (connecting symbol) (unclear) order_


	3. Chapter 3

_April 10, 1922_

_Conditions:_

_\- the Library's lawn;_

_\- no circle;_

_\- at a threatening presence (a man)._

_Results:_

_- ~~Cerberus~~ a guard dog was very frightened;_

_\- the man scrambled away in fear as soon as he heard it;_

_\- (reported) he started screaming at midnight;_

_\- (reported) his body was found whole, except for the eyes - plucked._

_Did the man recognize it?_

_If not, is fear part of its effect?_


	4. Chapter 4

_April 28, 1922_

_Conditions:_

_\- the Armitages' home;_

_\- circle (old scarf with embroidered Aklo for protection);_

_\- at nothing and nobody in particular._

_Results:_

_\- all drawers in the house opened and shut at the same time;_

_\- very loud but no harm done._


	5. Chapter 5

_NOTE_

_I have placed Aklo for protection inside the Armitages' home:_

_\- four painted stones in the soil of the potted plants on the window sills;_

_\- three painted stones in the soil of the potted plants around the house;_

_\- two painted stones in the soil under the rose bushes in the garden._


	6. Chapter 6

_May 12, 1922_

_Summary:_

_\- the Armitage home;_

_\- circle (old scarf with embroidered Aklo for protection);_

_\- at nothing and nobody in particular._

_Results:_

_\- the folder with the "Cultes des Goules" drafts fell down from its shelf;_

_\- paper went everywhere except inside the circle - except for a page on evocation._

_Evocation - to call from inside_

_This comes from inside?_

~~_This comes from me?_ ~~

~~_This is me?_~~


	7. Chapter 7

Several pages of a cheap notebook. Several dozen sentences, written in a childish scrawl.

As far as first drafts went, this was pathetic. Asenath leafed through her infant _magnum opus_ , wondering if there was any point to it. She had been working on it for three months - with her mind, with her pen, with her brush and even with her needle - and yet what little knowledge she had managed to glean was practically useless. After all, what use there was of a spell which only seemed to give power to her anger but neither change it nor control it? She had managed just fine with only a candelabrum. One did not need a torch when a match was enough.

She kept flipping through the notebook until she reached the end. The blank paper, so full of promise back when she had purchased it, now felt cold and intimidating.

 _Nothing that you do will ever be enough_ , the empty pages seemed to hiss. _You are no wizard. You are just a thief who got lucky._

Something got in her eye - the reflection of the setting sun, caught in the windows of the building across the street.

Asenath shifted in her chair, gazing through her own small window. The familiar sea of roof tiles and brick chimneys glowed in red and pink - a sharp contrast to the shifting blues of the evening sky. One of the neighbors turned on a gramophone; she recognized the melody, because Mrs. Armitage owned a copy of the same record and played it from time to time. The girl hummed along and watched as the world outside grew both darker and brighter - dark skies yet bright stars, dark streets yet bright lamps - until night fell over the town and inside her room.

Asenath did not need much light to be able to see - not when the notebook's empty pages seemed to glow white beneath her fingers. 

There was so much space...

... and so much time...

... and so much life.

Her heart cracked, and it was the sound of the notebook being snapped shut, and the sound of the chair being pushed back, and the sound of the window being opened wide. Cool air rushed in, along with the faint smells and distant sounds of the outside world - smoke and music and grass and laughter and the Miskatonic river. Shivering in her thin nightgown, the girl rested her elbows on the ledge.

She could do a lot worse, Asenath realized, than being here, with Arkham beneath her and the Ursa Major above her, with an almost empty notebook and an almost empty heart - indeed, only almost empty, because she had still written something of her own and because she had still felt something on her own.

Her heart cracked, and burned, and glowed. It felt as if the sun had set inside her chest. 

Asenath all but cradled it as she finally retired to her small bed, but when she rested her head on the pillow, it seemed to leak through her eyes and spill all over...

... the bed and the room and the house, Henry and Hazel Armitage...

... the coffee shop and the theater and the Library...

... Warren Rice and Francis Morgan and the dog Cerberus...

... her mother's necklace and...

... the Aklo on the nightstand.

She whispered the words - so quietly, that only her own heart could hear them.

Nothing happened.

Or at least, nothing bad.


	8. Chapter 8

Asenath dreamed.

She dreamed of an old city and a young man; she could not see his features, and yet she knew that he had a smile like the day and a shadow like the night.

She dreamed of barren hills, and above them a creature like a storm, and beneath it a boy like a lightning; she dreamed of a pale woman who saw her and waved at her.

She dreamed of a soft hand and a soft voice; she dreamed of rustling pages, and they sounded like the wings of a bird who takes flight for the first time.

She dreamed of the streets of Innsmouth and a strange man who was running, and she was running after him, and he dived into the ocean, and she dived after him, and they swam until they reached the city of Y'ha-nthlei beyond the Devil Reef, and its denizens came out to welcome them, and one of them swam forward and toward Asenath, and she could not see her face but she could feel her hands, and they were her mother's hands.

 _When you want to be here_ , her mother said, _I will be here as well_.

**Author's Note:**

> asenath's trauma: shut up i'm manifesting  
> asenath's healing: no YOU shut up I'M manifesting


End file.
